Unaccountable Activities
by De Ore Leonis
Summary: Lucius is summoned to attend Lord Voldemort. The orders that follow inspire pure shock and disbelief. Lucius struggles to account for the odd behaviour and develops a theory. He also wonders if he'll get out of the situation alive.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or world

**Warnings:** Rated for a reason, contains explicit male/male scenes

**Unaccountable Activities**

I walked calmly up to his room, my cane tapping steadily against the cold stone. There was nothing in my outward appearance to indicate my nervousness. Every Death Eater fears being summoned by the Dark Lord. But having to step forward during a meeting was nothing when compared to a private summons. A private summons usually entailed a displeasure that was so great, that the punishment was even more important than making an example to the rest of his followers. He so rarely accorded favour that I dismissed that idea almost immediately.

When I entered, I saw him standing beside his fireplace, the flames throwing unsettling shadows on his gaunt face. He didn't turn as I entered. I prepared to kneel. I always did so with great reluctance and distaste. The lesson that 'a Malfoy does not kneel' had been drilled into me from an early age. However the power he offered, the ideals he upheld and even the dark power that radiated off him were adequate reasons to bend the knee. This time however, a single command stopped me.

"Stand still," he rasped.

I suppressed a shiver. My mind flickered through my activities of the past few months and tried to think of anything that he may have taken exception to. I couldn't think of anything that I had done recently.

He finally turned and then simply stood there, opposite me, and observed. My expression betrayed nothing, of course. But I was surprised at how inscrutable his was (for once). If he was angry, it was usually very obvious with absolutely no subtlety.

He lifted his wand. I resisted the urge to tense as a blindfold came down over my eyes and cut off my vision. I closed my eyes beneath the light cloth. No one but me would know I had done so and it would help me deal with whatever was coming. This was highly irregular. I would not even admit it under torture, but I was worried.

Then my eyes flew open as my robes were lifted and then... impossible. No. But there was the evidence of my senses. I felt his lips close around me, despite the total lack of arousal which was a by-product of the fear and uncertainty. He was…he was…no, my mind rebelled at the notion. I couldn't even form the thought into words. It couldn't be real, he couldn't possibly be…

The blind fold was removed with a flick of his wand. I wondered if the gesture served, in part, to remind me that he was armed. As if I required a reminder of the sheer strength of the dark power that was currently on its knees before me. I looked down. My breath caught in my throat. This was impossible. It was, well, it was him. Not impossible. My rationality finally caught up with my instincts. A glamour, an illusion. Yes, that was it. This was him from before his rebirth. The black hair, the vivid green eyes and the skin: pale, but not pallid. He had made himself look younger than I had ever remembered seeing him, though. He looked to be in his very early twenties, perhaps. I wondered if it was for his benefit or mine. Was it vanity that made him want to appear in a certain way to me? Was it to encourage my cooperation? I couldn't deny that a pretty face helped. But what really struck me was how expressive his eyes were. Usually his blood red eyes gave away nothing but rage and hatred or a cruel satisfaction. But these green eyes, though hard, contained traces of fear and, even more delightful, the vaguest hint of vulnerability. It demonstrated just how far gone I was that I couldn't identify the reason for the fear. I can almost always fathom motive.

His movements were clumsy, but eager. It was well suited to the young form he wore. I dreaded the direction that these activities would take. I couldn't imagine how this could possibly end well. Was I being punished? Rewarded? Was it simply curiosity on his part, or some sort of elaborate trap? I dearly hoped for a simple, reasonable explanation such as this being part of some obscure dark ritual. The main question, of course, was whether I would get out of this alive.

His hand snaked out to mine and placed it on the back of his head. My fingers instinctively carded through his hair, but I was not so stupid as to try and direct him. Still, that image of him, younger and vulnerable, doing this to me was enough to excite me. I found myself responding and I didn't even bother to suppress the razor sharp smile that adorned my features when he looked up at me. If this was going to be my last few moments alive, then I decided that I may as well enjoy the power. For me, power was everything and context was only secondary. This was yet another lesson that had been instilled in me.

Then he stopped. Before I was finished. My body instantly decided that this was indeed punishment, elaborate though it may be. Perhaps I would be allowed to go now. I removed my hand from his head and waited, standing completely still, as per instructions.

To my utter surprise he went over to the bed and knelt, actually knelt, beside the bed and leaned forward onto the covers. It was almost an invitation. I decided at this point that it was a trap and that one false move would cost me my life.

"My Lord?" I asked. My voice betrayed nothing of my apprehension. It was a mild enquiry, nothing more.

"Take me." His voice was equally composed. It was almost an order. My heart beat a little faster. It bothered me that I couldn't control that response.

At this point I decided that it was curiosity dictating his actions. Why he chose this, at this time, in this way, was beyond me. Then again, he wasn't in the habit of answering questions. He expected obedience so I took out my wand to conjure up some lubricant. I sincerely doubted that he had done this before, let alone recently.

"Stop," he commanded.

I froze.

"Take me without preparation."

I held on to my neutral expression for a few seconds before I had the capacity to react.

"It will hurt. A lot." I felt it was reasonable to point this out. My inarticulacy was due to shock. Surely even the most inexperienced individual knew of what I spoke?

"I am aware of this, Lucius," came his measured reply.

Was he inside my head? It wouldn't be the first time. If he was reading my thoughts, I highly doubted that he would like what he found.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. I had basically been given permission to do whatever I liked to him. I couldn't deny that this much power was intoxicating. Even like this, I could sense his dark power. No mere illusion could detract from such a fundamental part of him. That power, in itself, was vaguely arousing, but to be in control of that much power in this context… that went beyond intoxicating.

I let my gaze drift over the pale, unmarked back and then let my fingertips trail down his spine. He shivered and I smirked. I took hold of one of his cheeks and gave it a tight squeeze before spreading him slightly. He wasn't tensed, surprisingly, but I knew that I would still damage him. Then again, the penalty for disobeying a direct order was a painful certainty. The penalty for what I was about to do was a mystery. Curiosity is a powerful force, especially coupled with an incentive to obey.

He cried out when I forced my way inside him. I felt him tear a little. Ironically his own blood helped to keep him slick for my pleasure. As I thrust lazily into his tight body, I idly wondered why he was allowing this, why he had actively sought this experience. A theory begun to form in my mind. It was possible and it certainly fit the available evidence.

Apparently he found the experience satisfactory as he met my thrusts with his own forceful movements. He was admirably silent, despite the pain he must have been enduring. Only the occasional grunt betrayed him. The visceral sounds seemed oddly out of place with him. I had almost expected a silky moan if he was pleased or a venomous hiss as a counterpoint to pain.

He finished before me, much to my great surprise and bemusement. Then again, it may just be another piece of this puzzle. He made no move to stop me, and as he tightened and clenched in his pleasure, my own movements became erratic as I too climaxed. I uttered a soft moan. It was reserved with a just a hint of emotional expression. It was an appropriate moan for a Malfoy. Apparently people find it odd that I would control the sounds I utter in such a typically uncontrolled setting. I find it odd that they do not.

I pulled out and drew my wand once again. I muttered a quick cleaning spell over myself. I waited to see if he would request the same. When he lifted his own wand, still clasped tightly in his left hand, I felt uncommonly embarrassed. I had forgotten that he was more than capable of performing such an act. He probably didn't even require his wand. Simply being in control had altered my perceptions of him. Once again, my thoughts turned to how he could possibly let me live after this. I sheathed my wand and waited for death or dismissal.

His breathing evened out after he cleaned and healed himself. There was no evidence of the previous activity other than his nudity and the glamour that he wore. He rose gracefully to his feet, his healing impeccable. Then he climbed under the covers and motioned for me to do the same. I barely resisted the urge to gape in an undignified manner. Sometimes he is very difficult to predict. The word _volatile_ springs to mind.

His lips twitched in a brief smirk at my expression. "I don't often see you at a loss for words, Lucius."

I regained my composure and removed my shoes and socks. I hesitated over the rest of my clothes. Did he particularly want to see my naked form? Was that why he wanted to lie together in the literal sense? I hadn't disrobed in carrying out his prior instructions because it had seemed somehow inappropriate. Of course everything about the encounter had been inappropriate and I was hard pressed to explain exactly why disrobing would have been _particularly_ unacceptable.

He waved my hovering hands away and motioned again. It was a rather imperious gesture from someone who had been so recently degraded. I was appalled at myself for thinking something so dangerous and hastened to comply. He lay close to me. If it were anyone else, I would have said that he snuggled. But the Dark Lord was not capable of acting in that manner, glamour or no. My arm pulled him closer reflexively. I froze as soon as I realised what I had done, but he merely sighed. Whether it was a sound indicative of contentment or amusement I couldn't decide, but either way, no pain was forthcoming.

Of course I knew about his bloodlines. I knew about everyone's bloodlines. It had been part of my training since I was old enough to know what a family tree was. It saddened me that Salazar's noble line had been so heavily polluted, but there was no denying the power. I was willing to forgive a lot of things for power and kneeling to a half-blood was a small price to pay for what he was offering.

With this in mind, a significant part of my enjoyment was in fact derived from putting him in his place. It was a dangerous thought to think, but I had a suspicion that he knew this. It probably amused him to no end that I, the very epitome of a noble pureblood, knelt in supplication to him. It was probably some sort of retribution for his school years. I can imagine what it would have been like being one of the rare half-blood Slytherins. His classmates would not have made things pleasant for him.

I had my own theories about why he had engineered this encounter. Mostly they centred on an assumption of masochism. Why he would feel this way was a more difficult enigma. I was fairly certain that he believed that what he was doing was right. As such, perhaps he felt some vague subconscious need for atonement, for the means with which he set about his ends. Few people, if any, intend to do evil. It might also have been to do with his bloodlines, as I had so recently contemplated. It would explain why he had a chosen a pureblood such as myself.

Perhaps it was a more complicated reason that was tied in with his childhood or some form of abuse. Then again, I might be over thinking things. The simplest explanation was boredom; that he derived some sort of amusement from being beneath one that he had power over. I would have asked him, but I highly doubt that he would tell me. The threat of death was also something I was still keenly aware of. Finally I felt compelled to break the silence.

"I suppose that if I ever even hinted at this to anyone, including yourself, I would be tortured and killed," I state.

"Don't be silly, Lucius. If you ever breathed a word of this to anyone, you would watch your family being tortured and killed and _then_ I'd have you tortured and killed."

It is almost a relief to be on more familiar ground.


End file.
